Count Grassi’s Passage Over Piedmont The Divine Comedy

Below the Po rolls slow from Alps to Adriatic Sea
Blow old bellows, blow, take us where you will
Padua, Genoa, Corsica, Catalonia, oh Segovia
Oh, unfathomable firmament

That we should set a course between the two
Clinging only to our orb of blue and red
Like Romanov's to a Fabergé egg
Push Sisyphus, push, heave our sphere into the heavens

If I'm to die, then let it be in summertime
In a manner of my own choosing
To fall from a great height
On a warm July afternoon
Liverwurst, Battenburg, Emmental, Syllabub, Muscadet
Throw it all away, we need more height
Oh Newton, release this apple from its earthly shackles
And live to fight another day

Go back from whence you came the swallows cry
You've corrupted and befouled the ground you walk upon
And now you come to poison the skies
Please friends, forgive this brief intrusion